


In Need Of Something Good

by MoMoMomma



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Adorable Newt Scamander, Blow Jobs, Good Original Percival Graves, M/M, Not the Intended Use of Wandless Magic, Semi-Public Sex, magical sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-09
Updated: 2017-01-09
Packaged: 2018-09-15 22:02:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9259358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoMoMomma/pseuds/MoMoMomma
Summary: All Newt wants is a distraction from the achingly boring lecture at MACUSA. And, as per usual, he gets far more than he bargained for.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I literally just wanted an excuse to write someone getting bad touched during a sexual harassment seminar. Because the irony is fantastic. I hope you enjoy!

There are, Newt is finding, immense drawbacks to being an official liaison to MACUSA. There are amazing perks, of course, freedom to keep all his beasts without persecution, respect where normally he’d find scorn, and a nice office right next to Graves’ to relax in. 

But the perks are occasionally, only occasionally, absolutely not worth the rubbish drawbacks.

Because MACUSA is an organization, a well-respected and established organization, and there are regulations, rules to be followed. Which change and bend as the world around them changes and bends.

Like the current world change regarding sexual harassment.

In other words, the reason for Newt’s current level of hell.

He’s settled behind a table, alongside a few  junior Aurors, while a woman in a fierce bun and heels gestures at the gathered crowd.

“And we can all agree that in your line of work, distractions are a dangerous and sometimes even _fatal_ thing. So keeping a professional atmosphere is best for attention and work ethic!”

Newt is half tempted to see if he can slip into the suitcase tucked between his knees and the solid wooden slat at the front of the table. He’s only visible from the waist up, sitting behind it as he is, he’s more than likely able to get away with it.

Right?

A quick glance to his right shows O’Hara, a junior auror with a penchant for kicking off her heels and padding around the offices barefoot, drawing a rather inspired picture of her stupefying _herself_ during the lecture and Newt rethinks his plan. He’d likely be dragged out by his ear, if only to suffer alongside the others.

Misery shared and all that rubbish.

He ignores the woman, now moved on to appropriate “conversation space” between two people whilst talking, and searches through the crowd for a familiar undercut. Graves is a few rows below him, settled closer to the front along with all the other high ranked officials, and Newt narrows his eyes at him before huffing in exasperation.

Niffler is sprawled on the floor by Graves’ foot, leaning back against one powerful calf, seemingly content to snooze his way through the lecture. He and Percival had become shockingly close, despite Graves’ grumpy complaints when Niff made off with his watch and his tendency to carry him around by his scruff whilst taking him to return things he’d stolen.

It did make for an amazing sight to see the Director of Magical Security shove a Niffler out in front of him, usually right into some scared interns face, and inform them he had something of theirs.

Pulling out a small piece of parchment, Newt picked up the quill that had been a gift from Queenie last Valentine’s Day--”so you and your sweetie can write secret love notes!” she’d grinned, thrusting it into his pocket before he could stammer out that he didn’t _have_ a sweetie. He’d started using it as a way to communicate with Graves when he was in his case, bypassing the annoyance of walking up the stairs and out of the case only to poke his head through the dividing door and ask if Percival minded helping him bathe the graphorn foals.

Not Queenie’s original intention, but it worked so Newt wasn’t about to complain.

Besides Graves was his...something...they’d never really discussed it but they’d fucked over/against nearly every surface they thought would take their weight. So that...counted as something, right?

Though Newt shuddered at the idea of ever calling Percival Graves his _sweetie_.

_Bit boring, this._

Newt saw Graves move slightly as the paper in front of him shifted when the words appeared, leaning forward like he was paying rapt attention and covering the sheet with a forearm braced against the desk.

**Pay attention to the lecture, Scamander. You might learn something.**

_I just wish it was a bit more exciting. This is dull and unnecessary._

**Careful what you wish for. Besides, this is mandatory--dull or not.**

_Unlike America, we’re actually taught in Britain from a young age to not sexually harass other people. So it’s hardly necessary that I actually be here._

**We’re taught the same damn thing. This is a formality because some morons can’t use the head on their shoulders around pretty things.**

_Funny that, I can recall a few times you clearly weren’t using the head on your shoulders around me._

Graves’ shoulders stiffened under his suit jacket, his next words appearing darker on the page like he’d pressed down hard while writing.

**Are you actually flirting with me during a seminar on forbidden sexual practices in the workplace?**

_Irony is wonderful, is it not?_

_I’ll show you irony._

Before Newt can scrawl a response back, a question on the tip of his quill, he sees Graves curl his fingers down by his side. There’s a tingle between his thighs before the unmistakeable pressure of a hand on his cock, like he’s being cupped through his trousers.

Newt’s resultant squeak jolts O’Hara and Randall--on his other side and apparently half asleep given his shocked snort before he glances over--into staring at him. He waves them off furiously, hunching over the table and scootching further in before scrawling a note back with shaky fingers.

_What are you doing? Stop that right now!_

**Oh no, you started this, Scamander. You get what you asked for.**

Newt’s quill falls from limp fingers when the pressure increases, a definite squeeze, before the pressure changes--slipping _inside_ his trousers. He bites into one knuckle to muffle any more sounds when slow strokes start to coax him into hardness.

A depressingly easy job, as it turns out, since Newt is thick and hard beneath his buttons in mere moments.

Graves, the absolute bastard, doesn’t seem affected in the slightest, even leaning over to answer a question from another Senior Auror quietly. All the while Newt’s shaking in his seat, trying to contain every single sound threatening to spill out into the air.

Percival likes him loud, knows that even if he didn’t Newt could barely help it--moans and shouts filling every space when they come together. He’s always been sensitive, receptive to even the slightest touch, and Percival is a right _bastard_ for forcing him quiet.

The strokes are throwing him off, quick and hard switching to slow and gentle with no measureable pattern, and Newt’s thighs are already starting to ache from being tensed in anticipation. Not to mention the drool that’s slicking up the corners of his mouth, a Pavlovian response to the pleasure.

Most of the time, when they have the moments where they can relax and it’s not a rough rut-fuck between meetings and cases, they do something similar. Newt sprawled on his side, sucking Percival’s cock while Graves’ works his--keeping him on edge. Newt’s eyes slide closed for a half second, finger uncurling, the teeth marks he left aching but quickly soothed by his tongue when he slides his finger into his mouth. He nurses his own finger while he opens his eyes, trying vainly to focus on the situation around him.

The presenter is still going on, no sign of stopping anytime soon, and Newt drags his finger from his mouth by sheer force when O’Hara nudges him with a frown.

“You alright? You look sick?” She whispers, and Newt shakingly offers up a smile, unable to meet her eyes, as he waves away her concern.

Scrambling for the dropped quill, Newt shivers at the harsh swipe of a phantom thumb over the head of his cock.

_You have to stop what you’re doing. Or I’m going to embarrass the both of us._

Graves doesn’t even _pause_ in his torture, reaching for his quill as his fingers twirl and the pressure becomes a sudden _suction_.

**If you wanted more than my hands, you simply could have asked.**

Newt forgets the quill--and the bloody meeting--in favor of clapping both hands over his mouth when a phantom mouth slips around his cock and sucks him down to the base. He jolts at the motion of a swallow, flexing warmth urging him to thrust, and his foot connects harshly with his case in his distraction.

At once, the room turns it’s attention to him, the woman stopping and squinting up at him with a pinched frown. Newt flushes a horrific red, squirming in his seat when Percival _continues_ despite the looks, and drops his hands to his lap.

“Is there a problem, sir? Do you have something to add?” The presenter asks, crossing her arms over her chest as Newt tries not to hyperventilate.

He shakes his head furiously, dropping it onto the desk as the woman huffs and goes back to addressing the room at large. Percival’s mouth--and it _is_ his mouth, Newt would know the pattern of his tongue even on the verge of death--continues it’s torture, swallowing around him and drawing back with tight suction.

Practically _coaxing_ the come out of him, at this point.

“Seriously, Newt, do you need to step out? You look like you’re gonna tip over.” O’Hara hisses, and Newt moans feebly in response, hips rocking up as Percival swirls a magic teasing tongue over the sensitive head.

“Sir, is there something you want to share with the rest of us?” Newt can barely drag his head up from the table to see the woman glaring at him, everyone else looking up with various expressions of concern and amusement and derision.

“I think perhaps Mr. Scamander is having a reaction.” _The absolute bastard_. “Likely due to one of his beasts. I’ll escort him to the infirmary, ma’am.”

Newt whines when he sees Percival climbing the stairs, expression closed and calm but eyes lit with a dark fire. He begs, without using his words--absolutely terrified of what he might actually say if he opens his mouth--for Graves to stop the suction, stop the teasing licks and wicked sucks along his cock.

Because he’s absolute seconds from coming in his pants in the middle of MACUSA’s best and brightest.

Percival takes pity, motioning for Newt to grab his case--and taking the time to have his phantom lips press the gentlest of kisses to where Newt’s absolutely dripping.

Once his palm closes around it, Newt finds his arm gripped and his body spinning in the familiar pull of Apparation. They reappear in a hallway, empty because everyone’s still in the bloody meeting, and Newt barely has time to whirl on Percival, mouth open to demand an explanation, when he’s roughly shoved up against a wall. His back hits with a stunning boom, but it’s hardly relevant when Newt finds himself with every single inch of Graves’ powerful body pressed tightly against his.

“Do you have any idea what you looked like up there?”

“N-not pleasing, I’d imagine. Flushed and red and--”

“Fuckin' delicious.” Percival growls into his ear, hips thrusting forwards roughly, near torture on Newt’s already shredded grasp on control. “Wanton little thing. Would you have come, if I hadn’t taken you out of there? Come with all those people around you?”

“Yes,” Newt sobs out, pushing back, both of them racing towards an inevitable explosion. “And if you don’t--oh _hell_ \--if you don’t charm us, I’m going to bring the whole place running.”

Percival snaps out a few spells, things Newt can barely attention to, shielding them sight and sound from anyone that might pass. Then his hands are on Newt’s belt and he’s dropping to his knees, frantic fingers made precise by his plans.

Newt _howls_ when the teases become reality, Percival swallowing him down without any preamble. Tight slick heat sends his head cracking back into the wall and he reaches blindly for Percival’s hair, threading his fingers through it and pulling him in closer. He’d been scared to do it at first, scared to ask for too much, until Percival had used his own hands to fist Newt’s in his hair and snarled out a dangerous “pull me in, fuck my mouth.”

He can hear himself, mewls and whines and guttural groans when Percival swallows around him, and Newt can’t bring himself to feel a bit of shame. Percival doesn’t feel any either, given the way he’s letting Newt fuck into his throat on every thrust, like sucking Newt off is more important than breathing.

Orgasm hits like a bolt of lightening and Newt curls over Percival’s knelt form, pulling him in tight, hips rocking every single drop of come into a welcoming mouth. His legs buckle nearly instantly, sending him sliding down the wall into a heap, and Newt grasps for Graves’ jaw with shaking hands. The kiss is slick and sour, the taste of his come on Percival’s tongue making Newt shake for a whole other reason.

“You haven’t yet--”

“No,” Percival gasps out, tipping his forehead against Newt’s as they both gasp for breath, too loud in the sudden silence. “No, not yet. Because you’re relaxed and so damn sensitive right now. So I’m gonna drag you into my office and fuck you open, limp and pliant and all mine to enjoy.”

“Oh _Merlin_ ,” Newt whines, Percival grinning and pressing a kiss to his sweaty temple before he hauls him to his feet with strong hands.

“I told you, darling boy. Be very careful what you wish for.”


End file.
